Branch 544  Lancaster, On 

A Tribute to The Canadian Soldier

The average age of the the Canadian military man is 19 years. He is a short-haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his car than wash his father's; but he has never collected unemployment insurance either.

He is a recent High School graduate, probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activity, drives a ten year old jalopy and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left, or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away. He listens to rock and roll or hip hop or or rap or jazz or swing or incoming from a 155mm howitzer. 

He is 10 or 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home, because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling, thus letter writing is a pain to him but he can field strip his rifle in 30 seconds and assemble it in less time, in the dark. He can recite the specs of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must. He digs foxholes and latrines and can administer first aid like a professional. He can march until he is told to stop and stop until he is told to march.

He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient.  He has two sets of fatigues: he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteen full and his feet dry. He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth, but never forgets to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes, and fix his own hurts. If you're thirsty, he 'll share his water with you, hungry, his food. he will even split his ammo with you in the midst of battle if you run low.

He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands. He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job. He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find ironic humour in it all.

He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.  He has stood atop mountains of dead bodies, and helped to create them. He has wept in public and in private for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed. He feels every note of the National Anthem through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to 'square-away' those around him who have not bothered to stand, remove their hat or even stop talking. In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.

Just as did his father, grandfather and great grandfather before him, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy,  He is the Canadian Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.

He asks nothing in return, except our friendship and understanding. Remember him, always     for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood. As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot:  A short lull, a little shade, and a picture of loved ones in his helmet..

A thank you to the men and women serving in the Canadian Armed Forces.